Communing with other people in their Cars

Communing with other people in their Cars

The motor vehicle is one of the great inventions of mankind. It frees us from tyranny (catching Public transport) and offers teenagers somewhere out of the wind to smoke pot and have sex, all the while expressing their individuality by dressing exactly the same as all the other teenagers.

I am a total car nut, I will confess. Fatherhood has rather castrated this hobby, since a car with a big fat engine and buckets seats that cause back pain are no longer of much utility. These days a boot with a removable rubber floor mat is the best I can hope for, but I still cling to the notion that my midlife crisis will facilitate a reckless purchase of Stuttgart’s finest. All content in the knowledge that nobody in my family has gone bald. And therefore I won’t look like those elderly slaphead’s driving sportscars that make us all feel good about ourselves (because we aren’t an elderly slaphead driving a sportscar)

Spending so much time in the car, gives one a chance to observe the different strata of society that exists on the road. Mirroring society as it does, there are the obvious underclass, the obvious top 1% and those of us in the middle bit, trying our best to run nice cars on budgets that should really only be able to pay for ‘P’ reg Hyundai Sonatas

However, all of us out there fighting for our bit of tarmac seem to believe that being inside the car generates a force field, a cloak of invisibility. The other day I watched a middle aged chap in a shirt and tie in a nice Mercedes luxuriate in retrieving a humungous bogey from his nose. He then spend a few seconds dwelling on it, before guiltily enjoying a post-Ginsters snack. All well and good, whatever flicks your switch I say. But stationary at a busy intersection, it was blatant. And I made the mistake of staring too long, and caught his eye. I’m not certain who was more embarrassed

In fact catching someone’s eye from the car is a weird one. We British do the ‘if I don’t look at you, you don’t exist’ thing, but I like to go the other way. I smile, wave, blow kisses, stick my tongue out and generally interact with my follow road users. It helps if they are hot girls in sports cars, but even blowing raspberries at van drivers keeps me amused, although them catching me up at the next lights does offer a frisson of fear. Pulling faces at small children, safe in the knowledge they will spend the rest of the day at Great Aunt Maude’s house copying you gives me great pleasure. Winking saucily at WPC’s in their Panda cars is high risk but also fun.

So today’s offering is, get out there. Enjoy the road. Offer your fellow road users a cheery wave and a cheeky smile. By all means pick your nose or squeeze spots, just don’t do it at the lights. And if you are bald and buy a sports car, please, for your own good, buy a hat.

Cyclists

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is wrong with you people?

The light is CLEARLY red.  The little man is green. That means it’s my go. I look both ways, and see a sweat-drenched man in a silly hat and a pair of shorts so tight I can see the serial number on his scrotum barreling down the road.  Its fine.  He’s not a Police car. The little man is green.  Off I go…

Swoosh! The stupid arse misses me by millimeters.  And shouts at ME.

Today, I watched a mop-haired idiot jump a red-light and nearly get t-boned by a taxi. And he flicked the taxi the V’s.  Erm. Tit

Everywhere you go, it seems cycling has moved from the preserve of the suicidal, polar-bear hugging greens and small children with stabilisers and pictures of Barbie to aggressive types with frightening, veiny calves.  In fact, let’s be honest, neither the calves or the veins are remotely sexy. Chuck in a walk like a croquet hoop and I’m afraid people are just laughing at you

And I’m not Jeremy Clarkson (thank the Lord). Cycling is fun. I defy you to watch someone in a suit riding around central London on one of those bikes Boris Johnson appears to have stolen wholesale from Amsterdam and not smile.  But surely it’s not worth dying for?  And more importantly, it’s not worth ME dying for.  I have a bike. I like to ride it round the lanes with my kids.  But its reached a point now where I’m too terrified to ride it anywhere else because of these lunatics

You’ve got your cycle lanes and I’m pleased for you.  But try and obey the rules of the road.  Because next time you jump a light and end up as a soggy mess of the side of the cement mixer, I’m afraid I will probably just snort derisively.  And nobody wants that in their day